


Yearly on the vigil feast

by pollitt



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Reunions, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:02:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The directions, printed on the back of the invitation, are written in Jack’s familiar hand, but the tone is all Eugene.  </p><p>  <i>Three buildings north of the main intersection, down the alley which we promise isn’t a VERY BAD DECISION, and then through the door with the giant neon pig. If you run into a wall--figuratively and not literally, of course--with a Peace, Love and Zombies mural, you (like the artist) have gone too far.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Yearly on the vigil feast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PercyByssheShelley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PercyByssheShelley/gifts).



> To PercyByssheShelley, I hope you enjoy your story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I wanted to touch on a number of your likes and to also bring in some happy future ideas for our beloved Abels.
> 
> Thank you to my betas for their read through and rah rahs! All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> This is set roughly a decade after the ZN1 cure was discovered. There really aren't spoilers, per se, for the game but let's just say through S1 of the app.
> 
> The title is taken from _the_ speech in _Henry V_.

The directions, printed on the back of the invitation, are written in Jack’s familiar hand, but the tone is all Eugene. 

**_Three buildings north of the main intersection, down the alley which we promise isn’t a VERY BAD DECISION, and then through the door with the giant neon pig. If you run into a wall--figuratively and not literally, of course--with a Peace, Love and Zombies mural, you (like the artist) have gone too far._ **

You take an electric bus up to town, spending the nearly hour long ride looking out the window and watching the signs of the world rebuilding itself. Buildings, homes, and people pass by in a moderately-speeded semi-blur with the occasional streak of green from a farm and its crop. 

It wasn’t like civilization instantly bounced back the moment the cure was found. There were still the dead (and a portion of the living) to fight, communications lines and even the most basic infrastructures to put back into place. 

“It only took months for everything to fall apart,” Dr. Myers had said once, “it’s going to take years to even get back to close to where we left off.”

As you step off the bus and look around, you think back to the photos in books of a time long before the ZN1 Pandemic changed your world forever. Bobby socks and poodle skirts wouldn’t be out of place, and that thought makes you smile.

\-----

You’re the first to arrive at the restaurant, and when you mention Eugene’s name the host’s eyes all but sparkle. Having a reservation under the name of the UK’s number one food critic (or so Eugene likes to remind everyone when he can) is definitely a perk, and you follow your server into a back room with a long table with matching chairs and a full set of dinnerware that is as good as a four star-rating in a dining guide.

It’s impressive, but a part of you misses the card tables and mismatched chairs and plates and bowls and silverware that has been your yearly dinner since the Abel survivors moved on and started new lives. 

Before you can get too maudlin, though, you hear the server’s voice talking animatedly and growing louder as he approaches the room and then there’s Jack and Eugene and you barely give them time to notice you before you’re launching yourself at them. One arm around each of their chests and there’s a precarious moment when your momentum threatens to tip the three of you backward. But together you all recover.

“Should’ve known you’d be here,” Jack says softly, squeezing your shoulder. 

“Hello.” Eugene elongates the last syllable, wrapping his arm around your waist and it takes you a moment to realize he’s without his crutches. “I’m not quite a runner yet, but maybe someday,” he says when you step back, eyes wide. He lifts his pant leg and you glimpse the metal of his new prosthesis. 

“You’re going to be doing that all night, aren’t you?” Jack asks, a fond grin on his face. “Honestly, I can’t take you anywhere without you showing off a bit of leg.”

“Oh _god_ that was bad.” Eugene rolls his eyes as the three of you laugh. He leans over and kisses Jack and even though it’s been more than ten years, Jack still blushes. 

“Wow, they’re giving us the royal treatment,” Evan says from the doorway. He gives a low whistle. 

“Well when you’re in the company of Eugene Woods, UK’s number one food critic,” you answer with a grin.

“Of the three out there,” Jack says, not missing his opening. 

“Hey! If you’re going to be like that, I can make this for a reservation of one,” Eugene threatens, but there’s mirth in his voice as he shakes Evan’s hand. “Where’s the family?”

“The youngest has the flu, and Kath didn’t want to leave her with the sitter. She sends her regrets.” 

Evan shakes Jack’s hand and gives you a hug. 

Dr. Myers arrives next, and it’s only been a month since you last saw her but it feels like longer. A sudden bubble of emotion rises in your throat and you blink back some watery tears as she speeds up her step and opens her arms. 

“Hello, love,” she says and you hug her tighter. 

“Maxine!” Sam’s voice is pure joy and you find yourself happily squashed when Sam’s arms wrap around both you and Dr. Myers. 

“The way he reacts, you would think they never saw one another,” Clara, Sam’s wife, comments as she and Olivia, Maxine’s wife, walk into the room. 

“Instead of weekly for some Demons and Darkness,” Olivia finishes the sentence.

“I have great love in my heart,” Sam says by way of defending his honor. 

“He does. And I get to hear about it daily,” Jack adds. “On and off air.”

Sam and Jack’s radio show is one of your daily listens. Hearing them on the radio talking about just about everything has been one of your constants, from Abel to now, and every month Eugene comes back for a Radio Abel weekend. You’d bet good money that there isn’t a former Abel resident that doesn’t tune in for that.

Runner Five shows up, alone, but there's a ring on their finger now and a picture in their wallet that says that maybe now the ghouls aren't plaguing them anymore. In this post-zom world, when Runners aren't needed anymore, it's weird to think of Runner Five just by their number...but even knowing their who they were, who they are, using their given name doesn't fit. Maybe tonight you’ll test their name on your tongue. Maybe.

The last few guests arrive and after hugs and handshakes and hellos, Eugene clears his throat. “Why don’t we all take a seat.”

Everyone takes a chair, the arrangement of who sits where a familiar pattern that’s hardly changed since that first dinner years ago -- shifting as new family has been added, or someone has moved away. Or died.

There’s still a space at the table, a chair always left empty, for those you’ve lost.

“Since Janine can’t be here, we’re going to need someone to propose the toast,” Eugene says as he and Jack pass the glasses of wine down the table. His eyes fall on you and he raises the bottle. “Molly, would you do the honors?”

This is the first time you’ve been offered and your first year without your dad (who still sometimes treats you like you’re a kid, even though you’re now 15) and you shouldn’t, you’re not old enough, you start to argue, but... 

“Oh please, kid, after what we’ve all been through, you’re more than old enough,” Eugene decides.

Jack’s picks up a glass and holds it while Eugene pours, and then the glass makes its way down the table to you, passing from adult to adult in a way that feels like it should seem weird but doesn’t. 

“I remember the first time I met you,” Five says, smiling and handing you the glass. “You and Mr. Rabbit.”

“I still have him. Well, he’s Jody’s now,” you answer, thinking of your baby sister and the family waiting for you back home and the family sitting with here now. You raise your glass and say, “To Abel.”


End file.
